


The Sacred Text

by fiction_mist



Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Captain Marvel (Marvel Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (Ish) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Awkward Flirting, Baking, Carol can't cook, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Tumblr request, nonsensical hybrid of british english and american english, not hipster-friendly, reader is passionate about patisserie, sourdough is overrated, written at 4AM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 23:05:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20665298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiction_mist/pseuds/fiction_mist
Summary: Carol finally manages to get her favourite baker to meet her outside of work. Needless to say, neither of you is especially emotionally invested in the meringues.





	The Sacred Text

**Author's Note:**

> A request cross-posted on my tumblr (romeo-the-cactus). Send me requests! (please)

Carol has been buzzing around her tiny kitchen for the past hour trying to get everything right. She’s switched between having just lamps and fairy lights on for a more atmospheric look with less glare and putting the main light on so you can see what you’re doing. She’s set the oven to preheat 4 times, each time switching it back off so she doesn’t appear too eager. The playlist she stayed up late last night making has had its queue relentlessly edited so that it may or may not now just be looping the same five songs. She’s tidied up till the whole apartment is spotless before putting things back and purposefully ruffling and rumpling them, before putting half the painstakingly just-_barely_-open magazines and ever-so-_slightly_ draped over the sofa throws back away.

The doorbell rings. She freezes so suddenly that she almost falls over.

The thing is that she’s been hoping and praying this day would come for months now. Since her first visit to your bakery, when she had been charmed as much by your impeccable pastries as your kind eyes, bright smile, and equally bright wit, she has been trying to see you outside of work, but every time she came up with an excuse you were busy, or tired, or going to be out of town, or _‘no seriously Carol, I can’t go to karaoke night with you, I really do have to be up at 4 to start work, which do you value more, my bad singing or my macaroons, that’s what I thought’_, or whatever.

She was really starting to think you weren’t interested, because _surely_ no one could be that oblivious? But you always seemed so happy to see her when she bounced back from the latest maybe-rejection to swing by the bakery the next day, or the next hour, because at this point, daily visits had bumped up to an average of three visits a day, but she’d finally managed to get you outside of the bakery.

It had only taken three weeks of openly drooling over your new meringues and _begging_ for the recipe, pleading imminent bankruptcy at your hands. 

Then you'd pointed out she could barely make toast.

And now you were outside her front door. Where you had now been for several minutes.

'Uh…Carol…can you let me in? I’m not sure how much longer I can stand out here?’ You called out, your voice sounding weirdly distant - and as she rushed to yank the door open, apologies already spilling from her mouth, it wasn’t hard to see why as a mound of baking equipment, batter-splattered recipe books, and ingredients made its way into her flat, almost collapsing in surprise at the sudden welcome.

'In here, kitchen’s this way’ Carol ushered you in, making a grab for some of the heavier-looking items, and trying not to swoon at the half-hearted glare that appeared from behind a mixing bowl as she narrowly avoided dislodging the egg carton precariously balanced at the top of the pile.

'You smash my free-ranges, Danvers, and you can kiss first refusal on my cinnamon rolls goodbye. Forever’ you only-half-joke.

'If those eggs smash in an unexpected descent from mount patisserie I feel like that’s not my fault’ she points out, a sceptical look on her face.

A slight blush rises to your cheeks, the upper-hand you’d felt at her flustered appearance when you arrived falling away. 'I didn’t wanna make two trips’ you reluctantly confess, looking a little sheepish.

It had been over a year now of the two of you dancing around each other like this, a seemingly endless game of hot potato where you constantly exchanged embarrassed shyness and flirtatious bravado- or at least, you hoped it was flirtatious, otherwise she’s one of your worst customers and you’ve really crossed a boundary in coming here. The truth was that since she had first sauntered into your bakery and cleared you out of the muffins that should’ve lasted you all day, leaving you with a wink, some crumbs, and a mortifyingly strong crush, you’ve been dying to do something like this, but it never seemed to be the right time. Work was eating up your life like Carol on Strawberry Tart Sundays. Between early mornings getting everything in the ovens and late nights feeding your sourdough that sold annoyingly well, you never seemed to have any free time, and whenever you did you were so exhausted that you napped it all away anyway.

When you saw the look she gave those meringues though, you knew this was your chance.

'Well, in that case I gotta congratulate you on a successful feat of stubborness’ she laughed, her eyes doing that squinty thing that had you melting right into her chocolate brown- oh crap Carol was still talking! You followed her through to a plain yet ugly white galley kitchen on one side of the apartment.

'Well thankfully on account of my stubbornness we’ll actually be able to make something given you don’t seem to own so much as a mixing bowl!’ You pointed out, confident that things were back in your realm now that you’d gotten to the actual baking part of the day.

Frowning in an irritatingly cute way, she dug through her cupboards while you unloaded yourself, finally getting your attention with a loud 'a-ha!’

You spun round as you tied your apron strings to see her dramatically brandishing a plastic cereal bowl.

'Nice try Danvers,’ you said, patting her on the head and taking the bowl 'I’m sure that’ll be perfect for the shells’.

Carol tried not to look too disappointed (or delighted) as she grabbed the other, hideously pink and frilly apron and tried and failed to tie it behind her back.

You turned at the sound of Carol clearing her throat to see her pouting, apron strings tangled together in her hands.

'Carolll’ you sighed, exasperated, grabbing her by the hips and spinning her round so you could untie the megaknot she’d somehow managed to create, and- did you imagine that or was that a gasp? Never mind. Focus on the task at hand. You’re here to teach her how to make meringues, not to live out your fantasies. Even if this was one of your fantasies. No, _focus!_

You finally got the strings free from each other, and crossed them over, spun her back round - you definitely hadn’t imagined that gorgeous little gasp that time - and tied a neat little bow.

'So first you have to separate the eggs…’ You began. This was going to be more of a test than you thought. Especially because this was at least the third time you’d heard the opening riff of Sweet Child O'Mine.

…………………..

Carol was losing her mind. First it was just at how passionate you’d become about the recipes you were using, getting all technical about ratios and structural integrity and oven temperatures. Then there was the emphasis you kept putting on _’stiff peaks’_. This however, was the last straw.

Part of her really did want to learn to bake meringues, and she was trying really hard to follow the complex hybrid of a recipe you’d presented her with like it was a sacred text- and she’d eaten your meringues, she was fully aware that it _was_ a sacred text- she just wasn’t much of a baker. But then she’d felt you peering over her shoulder, grabbing hold of her wrist to stop what she was doing ’no Carol, you have to gently fold it in or all the air will get knocked out of the egg whites’.

Ironic, considering how she was struggling to breathe with you pressed up against her back like that. Your arms crept under hers, one hand grabbing the bowl, the other lacing its fingers through hers to grip the spoon and then gently, _agonisingly slowly_ starting to mix. You stopped, allowing her to have another go, leaving your hand where it was.

She tried to imitate your movements, and you became more and more aware of how close you were right now. She stopped mixing and turned her head to you for approval.

For once, neither one of you seemed to have the upper hand as you both stood frozen, looking at each other, faces millimetres apart. You both leaned in as your lips met in a quick, soft kiss. As you broke apart, both of you blinking, smiles spreading across your faces, seemingly in slow motion, Carol spun round to face you and your hands snaked up her back and into her hair, your hips pushing her into the counter slightly as your kissing grew more intense- _BRIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!_ You sprang apart, knocking the timer you’d set to let you know when the oven was preheated to the floor, Carol’s arm flying out and whacking the open bag of icing sugar, a white mist erupting all over the two of you as you both somehow ended up on the floor giggling. Carol got up onto her knees and gently pulled your face to hers to continue what you’d started.

'Worth missing your bread dough for?’ She smirked, dusting some sugar from your nose and sticking the sugary finger in her mouth.

As you began to nod, beaming at her, you realised with a tug of irritation deep in your belly that you’d forgotten to feed the sourdough before you left. _Screw it_, you thought. Carol was worth losing your hipster demographic for. You dived towards her.


End file.
